


It's a Long, Long Road (From Which There is No Return)

by histoiredamour



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x19 coda, Afterlife, Coda, First Time, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Season/Series 15, Shared Heavens (Supernatural), Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:29:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/histoiredamour/pseuds/histoiredamour
Summary: It all begins at the end.After defeating Chuck, Sam and Dean begin to craft the kind of life they want, to write their own story from its new beginning to end. This series follows their lives immediately after the events of 15x19 Inherit the Earth, through introspection, revelation, and the ultimate tragedy. What each brother learns about himself and the other, will change their perceptions of love, family, and life itself.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 23
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Chapter 1 of a 25-part story.  
> I want to explore Sam and Dean's lives after the events of canon and bring to light what remains unspoken throughout the legend of their fifteen-year journey together on Earth.  
> Thank you for reading!

_“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired.” - Richard Silken_

Sunbeams turned to tiny prisms in the chip in the Impala’s glass. Sam could tell Dean was ecstatic, in large part due to the fact that he didn’t insist on stopping by the repair shop to get a new windshield before going out for a drive. “We’ve earned it, man,” he had said, throwing Sam his coat with one foot already out the door. Of course Dean would celebrate his newfound freedom on the open road.

Now, geometric rainbows danced across his brother’s freckled cheeks and Sam contemplated telling him that his shirt looked a bit like the _Dark Side of the Moon_. His lips quirked into a small smile as he turned towards the window, resting his face against the cool glass and watching the Kansas landscape go by. The tall trees near the bunker gave way to rolling fields and a clear horizon, already tinged with pinks and purples. The tinny sound of Jackson Browne mixed with the car’s familiar rattle as a lullabye.

“Hey,” Dean swatted him lightly on the thigh. “This isn’t naptime pal, you’re going to have to start earning your keep around here now that I’ve saved your ass again.” 

Sam threw a glance over his shoulder, pleased to find Dean’s eyes crinkled in amusement but confused by the stack of shining papers he was waving in his hand. 

“Been waiting for this day, Sammy,” Dean answered, tossing the pamphlets towards Sam on the bench. “Nothing ahead of us but the highway and some well-earned R&R. What do you say?”

Sam picked up the more lurid of the flyers first, eying them with suspicion. “What the hell are these s’posed to be?”

“Hey, you think I didn’t see you swipe those retirement home flyers? I’ll be damned if you think you’re dragging me off to the old folks’ home before we get to have a good old-fashioned family vacation.” Dean slapped the wheel jovially. “I picked up some flyers of my own.”

Chuckling under his breath, Sam acquiesced. “Alright, Griswold. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

There were flyers for myriad attractions from every corner of the country. Some of these had to be from at least a decade ago, Sam thought. They hadn’t been to Florida in how long? And yet, there were veritable dozens of pamphlets for amusement parks, hiking trails, and museums of all kinds - mostly cars and pop culture, but Sam secretly grinned when he saw the ABA Museum of Law and Hollywood’s Museum of Death. If he were honest, he’d prefer to catch a football game, but he was astounded by the dearth of educational flyers that had been picked, presumably, for his benefit. 

“Dean…” he began, as his brother turned his eyes towards him. “How long have you been collecting these?”

Sheepishly, Dean reached over to try to wrench the pile from Sam’s hands. Sam held fast and jerked them out of Dean’s reach. Quickly, Dean pretended to pick a crumb off the seat “C’mon Sammy, what’d I say about getting food on the leather?” Undeterred, Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe a couple years.”

“A couple years?” Sam raised his eyebrows, incredulous. He looked back to the faded green of the “The Terra Museum of American Art.” A stealthy Google search showed it had closed in 2004. Suddenly, he was dizzy and the air roared in his ears.

Looking across the seat again, Sam was struck by his brother’s earnest expression. He knew immediately that he couldn’t say a word. He would give this to him. If this was how Dean wanted to celebrate their victory over Chuck, Sam was, as always, along for the ride.

Shifting to rest against the window, seatbelt biting into his neck, Sam faced his brother. “Alright,” he tried to fan out the flyers in his palm. His legs spread out across the bench and floor as he adjusted the collection. There were too many to hold, so he stealthily disposed of the advertisements for the “Oregon Vortex” - too similar to Santa Cruz - and the “International Clown Hall of Fame.” He hoped that one had been a joke. 

Holding them out, fingers spread as far as he could manage, Sam held out at least two dozen flyers. “Alright then,” he repeated. “You pick.”

Dean shot him a glance, the prisms that had been dancing on his face turning slowly into a burnished orange light. His eyes were wide. “Really?” 

Sam laughed. “Yeah dude, you spent all this time finding us some options to play hunters’ hideaway. It’s only fair you get to pick.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘all this time…’” Dean mumbled, nevertheless reaching out to draw one of the flyers from Sam’s hand, eyes fixed determinedly back on the road. 

Sam saw the flyer he had picked before Dean did, and he stifled a laugh. Why had Dean picked up this flyer in the first place? It didn’t seem like - 

“HELL yes!” Dean shouted, waving the pamphlet triumphantly. “Dollyworld!” 

“What!?” Sam figured Dean had picked another of his joke flyers. “You can’t - You can’t be serious,” Sam said, sitting up and glancing nervously at his brother. It wasn’t a joke?

With a withering look, Dean communicated his absolute sobriety. “Sam, it’s Dolly freakin’ Parton. She’s an American treasure. And - ” he bit his lip as he made some vague gesture in front of his chest. “Eh? Eh?” 

“Dude, shut up.”

“You’ll love it.” Dean nodded, quickly turning into the exit lane towards Marysville. “Think I have one of her tapes in the glovebox.” 

Sam scoffed. As he noticed their change of course, he began again. “What? Are we stopping?” Sam didn’t know why he was surprised. Of course, they were going to stop somewhere, but with the world at his feet and the wind in his hair, he felt like riding shotgun through the night just because they could. Glancing at Dean again, Sam wondered, if he asked…

“Hell yeah, Sammy. Man’s gotta eat. Penny’s Diner over here has got food for rabbits too, don’t worry. And-”

“Pie?”

“Of course.”

Sam huffed a laugh and organized the pile in his hands. On top he put the flyers for the Grand Canyon and - blushing slightly - the Poconos. “If I let you regale me with tales of Dollywood, you think we could keep driving east after?”

Dean looked over, curious. “Why?” 

Sam shrugged. “Been awhile since we just got to drive.” 

“Don’t know who this ‘we’ is, freeloader - We all know I’m the chauffeur around here.” Dean met his eyes - Sam widened them almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, alright. Bitch.”

“Thanks, jerk.”

~*~

Sam was still finishing his Caesar salad when Dean let his fork clatter to the plate, mouth full of boysenberry pie and a satisfied smirk on his face. Arching an eyebrow, Sam wordlessly asked what the plan was.

“Well, Sammy, didn’t you say we should hit the road. What do you wanna do? Find a pool hall, maybe a waitress…” Dean looked around suggestively before drawing his eyes back to Sam, searching for appreciation, approval, or agreement. 

Sam took awhile to finish chewing, looking pensively out into the darkened Kansas sky. “Hey, isn’t that cemetery east of here? Stull?”

Dean’s eyes widened as he sucked in an audible breath and leaned away from the table. “Stull cemetery?” he asked, voice tinged with not only confusion but concern. “What the hell are you thinking, Sam?” Dropping his voice to a whisper, he leaned across the table and close to his brother’s face.

Languidly, Sam dragged his eyes away from the window and back to his brother. “Nothing - Nothing. It’s just, y’know, it’s a couple hour’s drive. There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, I read.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

“A meteor shower? Are you the friggin farmer’s almanac now?” Dean dragged a hand down his face, exasperated that he even had to ask: “Why do you want to spend our first night like this?”

It was Sam’s turn to raise his eyebrows. With the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes, he teased his brother. “First night?”

Dean elaborated with a wave of his hand. “Yeah yeah, first night of the rest of our lives or whatever, right?”

“I dunno, it’s appropriate... Isn’t it? And it’s close to Lawrence. Maybe…” 

Dean gave him a hard look, eyes bright with unasked questions. Sam already knew Dean would take him wherever he wanted to go. 

“Alright, Sammy. It’s whatever you want.” Dean tossed his cash on the table and stood up to leave before Sam had a chance to reply. 

~*~

Driving on through the night, anticipating a reunion with the site of Sam’s swan dive, proved to be an awkward affair. Sam stole glances at Dean across the bench, but his brother’s profile was set in steely resolve from his furrowed brows to his pursed lips and white knuckles on the steering wheel. 

Sam exhaled a gust of breath, anxious from holding his tongue for so long, feeling both too desperate but too uncertain to ask _What is it?_ The words were tumbling out of him before he knew what he was doing, his hand reaching out to lower the sounds of Chicago before- 

“What is it, Sam?” Dean ground out behind a toothy grimace. “Why the hell do you want to revisit one of the worst days of our life on what’s supposed to be a victory lap?” 

Shocked, Sam felt the dawning comprehension as a cold creeping sensation at the base of his neck, making his hairs stand on end. “The worst days of our lives?” He deliberately misquoted Dean. “We beat the friggin’ Devil, we saved the world,” he responded, narrowing his eyes at his brother. Sam was less upset than he was confused. He had thought Dean was proud of him, that he had done the right thing. Had he been wrong after all? “Sure it might not have been the best day, but it wasn’t the worst - I’m glad I got to put things right.”

Dean’s eyes challenged him, doubt and still a hint of fear making his emerald irises glassy and dark, but said nothing.

A half hour later, Dean managed: “You beat the Devil, Sammy. But I can’t forget the cost. I won’t.”

Sam, by now gazing out at the windswept fields outside their window, merely nodded.

~*~

By the time the Impala rolled up to the gates of Stull cemetery, the black velvet of night had well and truly fallen across the landscape. Gazing up at the sky, both brothers could see endless constellations and stars, both new and familiar.

On the way to their destination, at Dean’s behest, they had picked up a bottle of Johnnie Walker. They could only spring for the Gold Label, but neither of them were complaining. 

In their practiced way, they climbed onto the hood - Sam perhaps a bit more gingerly, and Dean a bit more roughly, than usual. Dean had spread out a blanket this time. Sam missed the feeling of cold metal biting into his jeans. Their knees knocked together when they crossed their legs.

Dean was silent for a long time, merely passing the bottle back to Sam every few minutes with an increasingly meditative expression. With every star that seemed to fall from the sky, he inched closer to a revelation. Sam waited patiently for what Dean needed to say. He knew that he would understand, somehow, why they needed to end up here.

“I get it, Sammy,” Dean finally said, his voice husky and rough after taking another pull from the bottle. “I know what you’re trying to show me. You’re right.”

Sam nodded, watching another green streak across the sky. Leaning back, he turned his head to look up to his brother, his flushed cheek pressed against the cool glass.

The Winchesters had always had a tenuous relationship with free will. Whether it was the blood running through Sam’s veins or a mark seared into Dean’s skin, every moment of control they could wrestle back from the path on which they had been set was their own private miracle. A miracle borne sometimes of obstinance, of necessity, of sheer spite… But usually, borne of something else entirely. Dean had realized slowly, but that is what Stull cemetery was to Sam. A victory, sure, but even more - a confirmation, a covenant. _Sammy, it’s okay. I’m here... I’m not gonna leave you._ No matter the machinations of angels, demons, or God Himself. 

Dean rested back against the windshield, mimicking Sam’s relaxed form, turning to meet his brother’s eyes. The nearly empty bottle thumped gently on the grass as the two brothers worked to comprehend the enormity of their triumph. Blinking softly, Dean raised his hand to squeeze Sam’s shoulder. There were those crinkles again, crow’s feet peeking through Dean’s gentle expression. All 40 years shone out of him at once as he murmured his assent to Sam.

“It’ll be like this, now. Always.” His hand trailed lightly down Sam’s arm. 

Sam mustered a soft smile, eyebrows still furrowed as he struggled to focus on anything but his brother’s bright and candid features. He blinked away to look at the stars, but they swam behind a haze of tears and scotch. Unwittingly, his eyes snapped back to Dean’s.

His brother’s lashes fluttered. “I’m glad we came.” 

They shifted to their backs again, sharing the blanket and pressed together from shoulder to ankle as they watched the stars until the first tendrils of morning light appeared over the horizon. When Dean gave the blanket to Sam and led him by the shoulder to the backseat, he was too tired to protest. “Go to sleep, Sammy,” he whispered. “It’ll be a brand new world tomorrow.”

And so it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys revive a tradition.

_It is the springtime of my loving_

_The second season I am to know_

_You are the sunlight in my growing_

_So little warmth I've felt before_

_It isn't hard to feel me glowing_

_I watched the fire that grew so low_

_\- Led Zeppelin_

A month had passed since the brothers’ fateful trip to Dollyworld - Dean had only just gotten around to ordering photo prints, and happily tacked a 4x6 of Sam’s queasy, greenish face above his brother’s immaculate bedspread. Pulling out another candid shot, he held the tacks between his teeth and focused on aligning the edges.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam said, wandering in a full half hour before Dean had expected him home.

“Wahde ‘ell doin?” Dean responded, trying to manage his mouthful of pins while hiding the pictures he had already placed. 

“Take those out of your mouth before you kill yourself,” Sam said, inching closer to the bed and trying to peer around Dean’s stocky frame. Dean backed up against the wall and dutifully spit out the tacks.

“Ah, what’s got you back so early, Sammy?” Dean teased. “Thought you’d be out stretching your absurdly long legs for another hour…” His eyes danced between the pile of photos at his knees and the door. 

“I was running a fartlek,” Sam replied easily.

“Oh, well uh -” Dean rubbed his nose. “Maybe we should retire Taco Tuesdays then.” 

Sam’s mouth tightened as he glared at Dean and drew closer. “What are you hiding?” 

“Nothing, man,” Dean maintained, even as he was pushed out of the way and onto the bed. Some of the pushpins dug sharply into his back, though he barely noticed as he watched Sam’s large hands curl around the edges of his photos. 

“What’s this?” 

Dean didn’t bother answering. It was obvious. 

“When did you even take these? I was about two seconds from hurling my guts out.” 

Dean chuckled. “Ah, yeah… You weren’t feeling so hot after the Sky Rider, huh?” 

Sam quietly picked up the remainder of the photos from the bed. All candids from Dean’s second camera. “Is this a… prank?” he asked, tone rising in uncertainty. 

Dean felt his face grow hot as Sam picked up the collection of photos. This had seemed funny at the time.. Why didn’t he feel like laughing? 

Sitting upright on the bed, pulling several pins out of the green flannel, Dean found himself at a loss for words as he watched Sam thumb through the photos, leaving smudges where his oily fingers flipped the prints. 

The longer Dean looked at his brother, the more disconcerted he became. He turned his face instead to the wall, eyeing his handiwork - a precise vertical line of ten of Sammy’s greatest moments. Some, like the snapshot of Sam post-Sky Ride or the quick snap he got of his brother in the pink ten gallon,were obviously hilarious. They were overshadowed, though, by the pensive shots he had taken of Sam’s broad, tan back with water droplets glinting in the sunshine at Radnor Lake, or his brother sleeping, open-mouthed, with his nose pressed against the cracked window, hair flying up to cover half his face. 

He glanced back at Sam, who had by now sat down himself, his weight shifting the firm mattress under Dean’s legs.

“Hey… these are pretty good, Dean?”

“Huh?” Dean started, still searching for what exactly the punchline of this joke had been. “Oh yeah?”

Sam had taken hold of one photograph in particular - a shot Dean had taken in the mirror, his face half out of the frame but Sam’s fully in it, in front of the mirror in that ridiculous turban, slathering some kind of snake oil on his skin before they left for dinner. 

He had taken the picture to make fun of Sam later - it was the first time he’d tried the turban thing, having learned it from some girl in the spa that morning. He noticed Sam had barely glanced at himself, though, placing his finger over his own likeness and instead looking at the half inch of the frame taken up by Dean’s head, turned away from Sam but clearly looking at him through the mirror with an indiscreet softness in his eyes. Dean yanked the photograph unceremoniously from Sam’s hand, hopping off of the bed.

“What, you don’t want me to look at them?” Sam teased. “You decided you’re the next Annie Lebowitz and they’ll sell better online?

Dean smirked. “Something like that.” 

“Did you get the others printed?”

“Yeah, they’re in the kitchen,” Dean said, stomach dropping as he wondered what else he had unwittingly photographed. “You coming?” 

“Yeah,” Sam replied, slowly tucking the photographs into his nightstand drawer. “I’m right behind you.”

~*~

Three hours and four truly phenomenal belgian waffles later, Dean and Sam were sprawled out in the chairs of the war room, pouring over not only the photos from their most recent adventure, but all the photos they had accumulated over the years. The room was silent aside from the ever-present whirr of the bunker’s generator and the shifting sounds of papers and fabric. 

Every now and then, Dean would wordlessly hold up a photo for Sam to see - perhaps the one with the younger brother’s nose buried in a book, or the two of them tossing a football back and forth in the gravel of Singer Salvage. Sam would give him a small smile and Dean would return the photos to the pile, taking a hearty gulp from one of the many coffee mugs that littered the table. . 

As the morning wore on, Dean volunteered to clean up, packing away most of the photos into their correct folders. After replacing all the other photos, he eventually gave up searching for the mirror picture, figuring it had been packed away with those from prior years.

Shutting off the lamps and room lights, Dean made his way down the hallway past Sam’s room towards the showers. The wooden door hung open just a crack and, as Dean peered in, he could see his younger brother picking up the scattered tacks from his nightstand and affixing the photo right at eye level. 

Dean hurried down the hallway and out of sight. 

~*~

Later that afternoon, Sam and Dean found themselves once again in the war room, this time ostensibly searching for something to do. 

“Have you heard anything from Jody?” Dean ventured, on edge with the recent silence since their sojourn to Tennessee. 

“Nope,” Sam replied, making a series of hurried clicks on his laptop. “Nothing from any of our usual sources either. All quiet…” He trailed off. 

“Well you know what that means,” Dean said, throwing on his coat and shooting Sam a mischievous grin. 

“Don’t say we’re going to a strip club. I can’t again, Dean…” 

“What? No, we’re making a beer run. Have you forgotten that quiet nights are for Obscure Double Features?”

Sam rolled his eyes, laughing as he shut his laptop and picked up his own jacket. “Are we seriously doing this again? What has it been, three years?” 

“You know it.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and let it settle there as he guided Sam to the stairwell. “It’s been awhile, man, and there are still so many opportunities…”

“Fine,” Sam huffed. “But no westerns.”

“Does Blazing Saddles count?”

Sam shot him a withering look. 

“Good, because I have the perfect idea.”

~*~

Laden with bags of chips, two six-packs, and several bags of skittles that Dean had snuck under Sam’s watchful eye, the two brothers made their way out of the corner store and back to the Impala. 

“Alright,” Sam said. “While you were trying to be sneaky with your candy, what’s the second movie you got?”

Dean gritted his teeth to suppress the laughter trying to boil over. This was his favorite part. “Ah… Forrest Gump.”

In his practiced way, Sam put a finger to his chin and gazed off to the middle-distance. It took him fifteen seconds.

“People being shot in the ass.”

Dean threw up his arms and swore loudly. “What is it with you, man? I really thought I had it this time!”

Sam laughed harder than he had in Dean’s recent memory. “Pay up, jerk,” he exclaimed, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes as he held one hand outstretched while the other went to his stomach.

Dean rifled through his wallet for a five, plunking it in Sam’s hand with a grumbled “Bitch.”

Ten minutes later, he still couldn’t let it go. “You know this is our money anyway, right?” 

“Huh?”

“I mean, I’m just saying. Why bet at all if it’s both ours? If we’re being honest, you’re getting the better deal here, since I am the Man of the Household.”

“What, because you hustle pool?” Sam snorted. “It’s not like we have joint bank accounts, Dean. Maybe I’m saving up for your birthday.” 

Dean hummed his assent. No, it wasn’t like they had joint bank accounts… Was it?

~*~

Back at the bunker, Dean had ordered pizza and - even he could admit - may have gone a little overboard. 

“Hawaiian?” Sam asked, dumbfounded, as he opened up the fourth of five boxes. “We hate Hawaiian.” 

Dean, distracted by trying to get one slice of each kind onto his plate, shrugged haphazardly and grabbed one of the six-packs. “Hey man, I got your fancy lambic _fahm-broyzee_ or whatever, so we got five pizzas. Even-stevens.” 

As he walked down the stairs and into the hallway, he barely made out something about _spending habits_ and the opening and closing of the fridge. 

After carefully arranging his beer and pizza, Dean let himself crash onto the soft mattress with a grunt. Leaning back against the distressed wood and his small pillow, he shouted to Sam to bring in the movies.

All told, it took Saam three trips to cart in the pizza, beers, movies, space heater, and - for some reason - four extra pillows and blankets before he could bring himself to settle down, at which point Dean went to the kitchen for seconds.

Settling in against the headboard with their shoulders pressed together, the boys jostled for the remote lost somewhere beneath one of their legs. “We’re starting with Gump, right?” Dean asked.

“Uh, of course,” Sam scoffed. “We are connoisseurs of cinema. I think I know which film to put on first.”

“Just checking,” Dean grinned cheekily. He threw the quilt - somewhat frayed and tarnished from the years of disuse - over their legs and pressed _Play._

_~*~_

Sammy had never been very good with movies, even when he was little. Dean glanced over and smiled as he felt Sam’s head thump softly against his shoulder. Not even halfway into _Blazing Saddles_ , and apparently it was lights out. Softly, Dean adjusted one of the many blankets to cover Sam’s shoulders and let him sleep as the movie played on. 

Near the end of the film, Dean felt Sam’s fine hairs tickle his ear as his brother brought his head up, just in time for his favorite line. “Nowhere special,” Sam whispered, sleepily, next to Dean’s ear. The hairs on his neck picked up at the slight gust of air. “I always wanted to go there.” Sam sat up the rest of the way, stretching his arms and obnoxiously knocking Dean’s head to the side. 

“Catch enough z’s, there, sleeping beauty?” Dean smirked, watching the blanket fall from Sam’s torso to his lap as he shook the hair out of his eyes, managing to make it look more mussed than ever. 

“Not even close,” Sam yawned. “I think I’m packing it in for the night.”

Dean’s face fell almost imperceptibly. “Oh, uh - alright man. Do you not want these beers?” Dean gestured to the green bottles left on his nightstand, where he had been handing Sam one every half hour or so for the duration of the evening. 

“Nah,” Sam smiled tightly. “I’ll throw them in the fridge.”

“Alright…” Dean trailed off as Sam moved around the room, picking up their scattered plates, blankets, and empties. His heart sat low in his stomach as he watched his brother carry everything from his room. It was as though he heard the needling noise of a mosquito, or noticed the lightbulb flicker… but nothing had happened. 

“Night, Dean!” Sam called out from the hallway, turning to go back to his room. Dean waited to hear the heavy _slam_ of the door before getting up to turn off his own light and crawl under the covers in a bed that felt, for some reason, bigger and colder than usual. 

Hours later - it had to be at least three o’clock, he thought - Dean rolled over in bed for the twelfth time, staring blankly at the shotguns on the wall. His eyeballs, raw from straining and staring at the light coming from under the door, rolled left and then right as his foot tapped out a senseless rhythm on the mattress. He sat up. 

Dean was no stranger to nervous energy. He might do a couple dozen jumping jacks, or work on Baby, or… Before he noticed where he was going, Dean had swung open the door and let the stinging fluorescent light into his room. Shielding his eyes, he looked down the hallway and stepped out. 

Padding down the hall, he passed Sammy’s door - ajar, for some reason. Why? Silently, Dean pushed the heavy door open with two knuckles, until a beam of light fell across his brother’s sleeping form. Dean would watch, for just a moment, to make sure Sammy was breathing okay. The photos he had hung earlier shined oddly in the dim lighting. 

Of course, his brother’s instincts were almost as good as his own. After a few seconds, he jolted upright and swiveled his head until his eyes landed on the doorframe. “Dee?” he asked weakly, pushing the hair up and away from his eyes. Dean’s stomach jolted to his throat.

“Sorry Sammy,” he said, pursing his lips. “Just closing your door. Go back to sleep…” He held Sam’s gaze until the latch clicked shut. 

Twenty minutes later, Dean Winchester sat leaning against the wall outside of his brother’s room, trying to decide if he needed to throw up. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean catch wind of a case.

_ I am amazed by peace _

_ It is this possibility of you _

_ asleep _

_ and breathing in the quiet air _

-June Jordan

The nutty scent of coffee lingered in the air as Sam tapped absentmindedly at his laptop’s trackpad. He eyed the local news sites with suspicion, searching, as ever, for something out of the ordinary. Bringing his mug -  _ Greetings from Minnesota!  _ \- to his lips, he sipped gratefully and willed the caffeine to prevent the oncoming migraine.

There had not been a case for months. Well, that wasn’t true. There had been several; after accidentally pulling a gun on Donna and Jody for the third time, however, Sam decided to call before following a lead. Aside from their weeklong vacation, the two men had been existing somewhere between the bunker and Dean’s favorite diner in Wichita for the better part of a month. Sam tapped his fingers against the table, shifting first to the left and then to the right in his chair. There had to be  _ something.  _

Hearing the  _ slam _ of Dean’s bedroom door, Sam turned around expectantly, listening to the padding of Dean’s bare feet on the linoleum. Soon, he appeared in the doorway, still rubbing his eyes and mussing his hair, which was already sticking up at all angles. “Mornin’ sunshine,” he grumbled, reaching blindly for the coffee pot. 

“Good morning,” Sam smiled, turning again to his laptop. 

Once Dean had poured his own cup, he sidled up behind Sam and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What’s the word?” 

“It’s as quiet as ever,” Sam said, gesturing towards what must have been the slowest news day of all time - “World’s Biggest Fish Fry Postponed Again.”

“Fish fry? Alright!” 

“It’s postponed, Dean, and we were just in Tennessee.”

“Yeah, alright.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and took his seat across the table. “Well, have you heard from Donna?”

Sam gestured with his mug. “She sent us a care package, I guess. The rest is on the counter - think it’s yours.”

Dean cast his eyes to the counter, but seemed to need a bit more fuel before moving again. Sam watched him take a cautious sip from his own mug, His lips were chapped, and Sam swiped his tongue over his own in sympathy. 

“Y’know, I got a message this morning.” 

Sam started, realizing a second too late that Dean had been talking. “Uh, what?” he asked.

“A voicemail, I guess. From that girl we met, Althea? Back when we did that poltergeist in Maine?” Dean took his time continuing to slurp his coffee. It was getting a bit obnoxious, actually. “Not sure if it’s our thing -”  _ Slurp. _

Sam cut him off. “That’s enough of a lead for me,” he shrugged, practically springing out of his chair.

“Woah, hey, Sparky - where are you going? I haven’t even finished my coffee. Sit down so you can hear something.” 

Huffing and tossing his jacket over his knees, Sam complied.

“Anyway, she says there’s been a series of break-ins in this neighborhood in Portland. Pretty similar methods, but nothing else connecting the homes or targets. Nothing taken.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow at his brother. 

“See, I’m telling you, I don’t think it’s our kinda thing.”

Leaning back in his chair, Sam signed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I mean. We’ve gone a lot further for a lot less.” It was his classic line, and Dean gave him a piercing look that told Sam he’d been found out. Mercifully, he didn’t say anything.

“Alright, Sammy. If you’re so desperate to get out of here, pack up and we can hit the road. I’ll check in with Donna.” 

Sam spared just two seconds to flash Dean a bright smile before running off to grab his duffel - already packed. 

~*~

Entering the war room with his bag slung over his shoulder, Sam saw Dean wrapping up a conversation on his cell.

“Yeah, let us get this one,” Dean said with a smile. “It’s probably nothing, but you know how Sammy is -” As he turned on his heel to find his brother, his face fell and he coughed abruptly. “Anyways, thanks for the care package. Yeah, we’ll make sure to come by and see you guys soon. Uh-huh. Okay. Yep, you - you… You do that! Bye Donna, okay!” Dean exhaled roughly as he ended the call. “Hey, we ready to go?” he asked, casting an impatient look at Sam.

“Yeah. What’d they send you?” Sam replied, following Dean’s measured steps up the staircase. 

“Buncha that uh - what did she call it? Paczki. I got it right here -” Dean gestured to his duffle. “Shipped it priority and everything.” 

“Huh,” Sam said. His brother held the door open for him as he stepped out into the bright spring sunlight. “Well alright.” 

Packing up the Impala, Dean remarked that they needed to stop for gas if they were planning on driving all day. After awhile on the road, he swung by one of their usual stops and asked Sam if he wanted anything. 

“Nah, I’m good. Maybe uh - maybe a bottle of water?” Sam looked up from his phone, where he had been trying - unsuccessfully - to find more information on the Portland break-ins. Dean tapped the roof of the car and headed inside.

After five minutes, Sam began to glance around the parking lot, looking for his brother’s fluffy hair or any other sign of movement over the tops of the cars. His hair stood on end. 

Opening up his messages, he shot off a quick  _ “Hurry it up in there, man.”  _ He chewed his lip. It had now been seven minutes.

At the ten minute mark, Sam had leapt from the car and thrown the door wide, preparing to sprint into the shop when he heard the ringing sound of Dean’s laugh and a “Thanks, brother. You know, I owe ya.” Sam strained his eyes to see Dean come around the corner, holding a bag of snacks and… a bone?

“Dean?” Sam asked, conveying:  _ Where were you? What happened? Is that a dog? _

“Sammy,” Dean threw him a brilliant smile. “You remember Miracle?”

Sam blinked dazedly. “Uh… yeah. What?”

“Miracle! Turns out, Jack brought back all of God’s creatures, great and small.” Dean chuckled, running his hands through the fine fur on Miracle’s head. “Man inside says that he was hoping for someone to adopt him, since he’s moving out of the country or something. How about that?”

“Uh, that’s great, Dean…” Sam began, arching an eyebrow towards the panting dog. “We uh, we can’t take it on a hunt though.”

“Miracle,” Dean corrected him, smoothing a hand over the dog’s ears. “Yeah, I know. Told him we’d be back in about a week and he said we could have him for free.” Dean looked up at Sam, the unasked question in his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam sighed. Warmth bloomed in his chest as he watched Dean’s smile spread impossibly wider, as he reached down to press his face to Miracle’s fur and hand over the rawhide.

“We’ll be back for you, boy. Don’t you worry.” Standing up, Dean asked “Are you good with this?”

Sam gestured with his arm towards the dog. “Of course, Dean. You know I always wanted a dog; it’s just… I didn’t think it would really work with, y’know, hunting and everything.”

“We’ve got a place, right? We’ve barely left in months, I think it’s time.”

“Yeah,” Sam smiled to himself, casting one last look at Miracle - already waiting patiently by the gas pump. “Yeah, you’re right.” Sam closed the door to the Impala, and gave a small wave to Miracle as they turned out of the lot. 

Turning back around, Sam saw Dean’s glassy eyes quickly flit back to the road. 

~*~

Sam woke suddenly to the aggressive chorus of “Squealer,” throwing out his hands in front of him as if bracing for impact. His heart raced in his chest until he looked over to see his brother, grinning, fingers still on the dial. Quickly, his expression shifted from fright to annoyance.

“Dammit, Dean!” Sitting upright in the seat and straightening his overshirt, Sam glanced around the dark road before rubbing his eyes. “Where are we?” His voice was rough from disuse and he reached for the half-empty water bottle.

“A couple hours outside of Columbus,” Dean murmured, turning with the Impala as they rounded a curve. “I was thinkin’ we could call it a night, unless you really wanna drive another ten hours?” Dean’s eyes roved over him as though he could ascertain what Sam needed with a glance.

Sam took his time responding, watching the outlines of the trees emerge in the Impala’s headlights. “Yeah, let’s pack it in for the night. I don’t know if I’m up to all-nighters anymore.”

“You going soft on me?” Dean reached out to tickle Sam’s stomach like when they were kids, and Sam felt the tips of his ears redden. He knocked his brother’s hands away with a feigned scowl and let his head fall back to the window.

Sam drifted between wakefulness and rest as the rumble of the Impala rocked him infinitesimally back and forth. He listened to the  _ slick, slick  _ of the tires on the pavement and noted how Dean’s hands were gentler on the wheel and, eventually, the radio as he popped in a well-worn Fleetwood Mac tape and Sam let the whispered lyrics lull him back to sleep. 

Dean pulled off the interstate after an hour, smiling to himself as he quickly found the way to The Golden Lamb. “Hey, Sammy,” he whispered, jostling his brother. “We just got to Lebanon.”

“What!?” Dean barked out a laugh as Sam turned to see the  _ Welcome to Lebanon, Ohio!  _ Sign, lit up with two flickering golden beams of light. Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother in the rearview mirror, willing his stomach to silence its protests - he hadn’t eaten since a granola bar back in Kansas.

“Hungry, Sammy?” Dean asked, pulling off to the side of the road and eying the hotel entrance with excitement. “They’re supposed to have some good eats, here.”

“Yeah, okay….” Sam said, looking up at the weathered brick building. “Can we afford this, man? Looks nicer than our usual joints.” 

“Sure, Sam. You think I’ve been cooking at home for nothing? We’re out of semiretirement; we can swing this for one night. Or, at least -” Dean pulled a shiny new Amex out of his wallet - “Rob Halford can.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam went to grab the bags from the trunk as Dean went to book their - or Rob Halford’s - room. 

~*~

Sam had to admit, the suite - _ it was a suite!  _ \- was impressive. No strange stains on the carpet, or even on the bedspread. He plunked their duffels down on a dresser that seemed to be made of real wood, rather than cardboard or some plasticky cork. Sam ogled the windows, wondering if he could count the number of panes. They were clear, and their third-floor corner room looked out on the quiet street below. Absentmindedly, Sam trailed his fingers over the delicate pattern on the curtains and turned to gaze around the room. Admittedly, the wallpaper was a bit busy.

Dean burst out of the bathroom, clapping his hands together and saying “So, whaddya think?” He flopped down hard on the largest of the two beds - one queen and one double, they’d been told. He lolled his head to the side and lowered his lids as he looked at his brother. “All that’s missing are the magic fingers,” he chuckled, wiggling both his fingers and eyebrows suggestively. 

“It’s good,” Sam offered. “As long as it doesn’t break the bank.” Unpacking some clothes and toiletries, he noticed again the grumbling of his stomach. 

“Let’s go downstairs and get something to eat, huh? It’s late, we can get back on the road at dawn.” Dean shouted, as Sam went to place their toothbrushes on the sink.

From the bathroom, Sam murmured his assent and the two went downstairs for what was meant to be a bite at the Black Horse Tavern.

Several Old Fashioneds later, Sam and Dean stumbled back upstairs to the suite. Dean rested a heavy arm around Sam’s waist, hanging off of him and moving as much under Sam’s power as his own. Dean was chuckling about some pun or another he had made about his hair, but Sam was too preoccupied with navigation to try to listen. His eyes were swimming and, once he managed to open the door to the room, the wallpaper pattern seemed to physically assault him as he staggered away from Dean’s grasp and into the bathroom. After an abbreviated nighttime routine, he turned to fall face-first onto the double bed, surprised to see it already occupied. 

“Go ‘head, princess. I ain’t moving,” Dean gestured vaguely to the pillow on his left. 

Sam chuckled, “The bed’s on the right, Dean.”

“Right.” 

Obligingly, Sam crawled onto the queen bed, barely managing to pull off his boots before hitting the soft, lavender-scented pillow. He blinked twice at his brother, looking into the slits of green as sleep overtook him.

~*~

Sam awoke to a harsh ringing somewhere near his left ear. Groping desperately for a way to stop the noise, he hit Dean’s hand, already grabbing for the receiver. 

“Yeah? Uh-huh okay. Yep, thanks.” Dean slammed the receiver down, dragging a hand across his face and sticking out his tongue. “Ugh, man. My mouth feels like an ashtray.”

“What was that?” 

“A wake-up call, I guess? And a not-so-friendly reminder that we need to be checking out soon.”

Sam felt a pounding in his head, as though his blood had rushed there at once. “When?” 

Dean checked his watch. “Uh, now.” 

Throwing a pillow at his brother - then retrieving it to place it back on the bed, this was a nice place after all - Sam groaned and started for the bathroom. “I can be ready in five.” When he came out, Dean had taken everything down to the car and, as promised, was ready to hit the road. 

“No stops today, pal. I want to be in Portland by midnight.”

Sam grunted, gratefully accepting the coffee Dean handed to him, and took his place in the front seat. He was surprised to find Dean’s face looming close to his - eyes shielded by his “hangover sunglasses. Dean stared for a beat before turning the key in the ignition and pulling back onto the main road.

~*~

Dean made record time, pushing 100 on some of the less crowded roads in the middle of the day, and they managed to reach the state border as the last of daylight was fading over the horizon. Sam had had to beg more than once for a rest stop and an opportunity to, as Dean had said, “stretch his gigantic legs,” but the dusty Alice Cooper tapes had inspired Dean to put pedal to metal through the afternoon and early evening. All told, they rolled into a Motel 8 parking lot on the outskirts of Portland at nine o’clock. 

After a hurried dinner of pizza, beer, and Jeopardy, Dean hit the shower as Sam tried to scrounge up more information from the local newspapers - going so far as to ask the motel clerk, Bernie, what he knew.

“Yeah, I heard about ‘em,” Bernie said, taking a pungent cigar from between his lips and blowing smoke down the hallway, towards the vending machine. “We’re all lockin’ up a bit tighter than usual, but nothing more I can tell ya.”

Sam gave the man a tight smile. “Well, thanks for your time.” 

Pushing the grimy door open and into their room -  _ not suite, _ he thought bitterly - Sam cast his eyes around before seeing Dean, already curled up on the bed closest to the door; he was breathing deeply but not yet asleep. Sam tiptoed around the bed anyway, shucking off his jacket and overshirt, undoing his belt and crawling into bed. He double-checked the names he had highlighted earlier -  _ Jenna MacAvoy and Kiera Carter -  _ before turning off the lamp and settling in for the night. 

~*~

After stopping for gas that morning, Sam and Dean were able to track down Jenna and Kiera - the two most recent victims - at their workplaces, one of which was a local coffee shop the other - to Dean’s immense joy - was a strip club.

Kiera, the barista, didn’t have much to say to the brothers. She only had a fifteen-minute break, during which she tried to wolf down a croissant while explaining what had happened. “I had just gotten home around seven at night,” she started, swiping the crumbs from her lips. “The lock was broken - just hanging there - but besides that, I didn’t notice anything at all.”

“Nothing?” inquired Dean, skeptical. 

Sam shot him a look and smiled tightly at Kiera. “We’re just trying to be thorough.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you. Nothing was missing, moved, or anything. They checked everywhere for prints, but all they could find were mine. The doorknob was wiped clean, of course, but nothing else had been touched.” 

Sam nodded and thanked the young girl. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help you, or if something happens again.” He handed her his card.

The girl laughed loudly. “Yeah, tell my landlord to fix the lock. Thing’s been dangling there for a week. You going there next?” 

Dean smiled, giving her a thumbs-up. “We’ll get right on it.”

At the apartment building, Sam realized Kiera’s description of her door was accurate - it was standing a bit ajar, the whole handle and lock dangling off like some sort of half-severed appendage. He grimaced as he shouldered into the room.

Sam and Dean’s gloved hands searched all areas of the apartment, finding nothing out of place. It wasn’t until Sam went into the small bathroom that he noticed something odd.

“Hey,” he said, wandering out of the bathroom in the direction of his brother. He was holding a hairbrush by the end of the handle, dangling it in front of Dean meaningfully. “Notice anything?”

“Uh? Are you trying to nick the girl’s hairbrush, dude? Don’t you think she’s been through enough?”

Sam pulled his mouth into a thin line and replied, “No, man. Don’t you notice anything weird? This hairbrush is completely clean.” 

Dean scoffed, trying to place the throw pillows back in their exact spots. “Only you would think that’s weird, Sammy. Not everyone starts to bald at 23.”

Sam huffed. “No, Dean, c’mon. Kiera’s hair was really dark and curly. You don’t think there should be some hair in here? Check the garbage.”

Dean let out a squawk of protest. “Not again, dude. Last time there was a cockroach in there.”

Sam was already replacing the hairbrush in the bathroom. He called out over his shoulder, “Don’t care!”

Dean dug through the garbage but found nothing besides some leftover spaghetti noodles and - gagging somewhat - a bag of cat litter. “No hair, Rapunzel!” 

Finding nothing more damning, they decided to head out. 

It was a bit early to hit PT’s Showclub in search of Jenna - in Dean’s words, “The afternoon crowd is not really something you want to see.” Sam thought privately that he’d rather not see any of it, and they grabbed some grinders and the paczki and decided to eat at the park. Sam had to prevent Dean from feeding more than half of his to the ducks, begrudgingly buying some of the overpriced birdseed instead. 

When the sky began to darken and seven o’clock rolled around, they made the fifteen-minute drive to the club, taking off their jackets and loosening their ties on the way. 

When they walked in the door, Sam noticed that Dean didn’t practically frolic to the front of the stage like usual. Instead, he was caught up in conversation with a rather tall barkeep that seemed to double as security. Sam sidled up to him and ordered a beer. 

“This man’s saying Jenny goes on in an hour. Aren’t you happy to see your cousin after all these years, Sammy?” Dean rested his hand over his.

“Uh,” Sam replied dumbly. Two minutes in the club and this was already not going his way. Dean secured them a booth at the back and handed over a handsome tip to have Jenna bring them over their drinks.

The girl was dressed in a black miniskirt and lace bra, looking a bit confused about why she had been sent over to the booth. When Dean and Sam flashed their badges, her eyes shot to the manager and she hissed “What do you want?” 

“We just want to ask you some questions about the break-in,” Sam said, holding out his hand placatingly. 

“Well, my boyfriend’s gonna be here in a few minutes, so make it quick.”

As Dean nursed his drink, Jenna regaled Sam with a story similar to Kiera’s. Soon, her attention turned to the entrance, where a man resembling Danny Devito strolled in with a glare. Dean snorted into his beer.

“Rowan!” Jenna squealed, hurrying over to the man and practically jumping into his arms. She and the man kissed passionately, and even Dean turned his eyes away as Rowan began running his hands over Jenna’s hips and… lower.

“Uh, what the hell?” Sam said, weakly, gesturing to the scene in front of them. 

“Beats me,” Dean said. “Looks like someone is starring in their own personal  _ Pretty Woman. _ ”

“You don’t think this is weird?” Sam asked.

“Hell yeah I do, but for all we know the guy could be loaded.”

Sam  _ hmm’d _ in concentration, willing his eyes back to the embracing couple. Danny -  _ Rowan, _ Sam corrected himself - was carrying Jenna bridal-style out the door. 

“I’m gonna follow them,” Sam said, plunking a twenty down on the wooden table. 

“Yeah, okay - “ Dean made to get up as well. 

“Nah man, you stay here. I know you’ve been waiting for this.”

Dean furrowed his brows but stayed where he was, watching Sam’s retreating form through the bar and out the door into the neon light.

Sam didn’t have to go far to find the two lovebirds. Crossing in front of the alley, he noted the unmistakable sounds of sex. He waited for a second, trying to decide how far he needed to extend himself in the name of hunting, before scrubbing his face and turning back towards the club. Dean’s smug smile and raised eyebrows greeted him. 

“Well, Sammy, I guess you found out where the real show is. You peeping Tom.”

“I wasn’t -” Dean grabbed the arm of his jacket and began to gently steer him back to the car. “C’mon, let’s go.” Sam thought to tease Dean about leaving the club without even getting a dance, but he was giving him a hard look that brooked no argument.

Back in the Impala, Sam sighed and tousled his hair. “Well, we’re back at square one, right?”

“I don’t think so.” Dean clicked the key into the ignition and quickly turned down the Warrant tape that had been playing to - as he had said -  _ put them in the mood.  _

“Why’s that?”

“I was talking to the guy at the bar - Sebastian - and he said Jenna had been robbed recently at the club, too.”

“What? That wasn’t in the papers.”

“Nah, I guess she didn’t want her job on blast… Anyway, Sebastian said she had her lipsticks stolen.”

“Lipsticks… and the hairbrush,” Sam said slowly. “Maybe DNA for a spell?”

“Don’t you think Romeo back there was uh… batting a little out of his league?”

Sam hummed and nodded his head. “Well then, I guess we know where we have to go next.”

“Ugh.” Dean slammed his palms on the steering wheel before pulling out to the street. “I fucking hate witches.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and for your kind comments! I've never written Wincest before, and cases especially are a challenge. I'm excited to see how the boys develop in the coming chapters ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean solve the case, but not without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I am so sorry this has taken me so long. I hope to be on a more regular posting schedule - 1-2 per week - now. Thank you for the comments and enjoy! Happy New Year!

_ Well I’ve been afraid of changing  _

_ Because I’ve built my life around you _

_ But time makes you bolder _

_ Even children get older _

_ And I’m getting older too. _

\- Fleetwood Mac

Investigating Rowan - or  _ DeCreepo _ , as Dean had named him - turned out to be entirely unsatisfying. Sam and Dean had caught his license plate and address, but weren’t in his McMansion long enough to find a shred of evidence before he and Jenna were stumbling through the front door, as the brothers tiptoed out the back.

“Did you find anything in the kitchen? Any kind of uh - animals, weird ingredients?” Sam asked, thumbing through a stack of mail he had pilfered from the study.

“Nope,” Dean said, popping his lips together. “What about you, any skeletons in the closet?” He glanced over at Sam as he drove, sticking his tongue out slightly.

“No, ugh -” Sam said, throwing several pieces of mail on the floor of the Impala. Dean raised his eyebrows. “There is this, though.” He held out a garish pink and green flyer, touching the corner as little as possible. The glossy door-hanger swayed backwards and forwards, the decorative florals catching the light. 

Dean glanced over to see Sam’s face through the gap. “Spellbinding Sex, Mystic Marriages…” he read from the front of the flyer. “Call Now.” He chuckled darkly. “Interesting marketing technique. So, what? A witch hawking their spells for commission, now?”

Sam shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” He set aside the rest of the papers. “Do you think this is it?” His voice raised an octave as he turned the flyer over in his hand. “Isn’t it a little bit, I don’t know -”

“Tacky?”

Sam hummed low in his throat. “I was thinking sophomoric, actually.” He considered the flyer more deeply.

“There’s a five-dollar word,” Dean said, reaching over to tousle Sam’s hair like he would when he aced his spelling tests. 

Sam brushed Dean’s hand away. “I’m serious, dude. Look at the spelling on some of these words. ‘Occult’ with one c, ‘talismen,’ and here it asks ‘Have you been wanting to DO IT with someone special?’” Sam pointed to the offending paragraph.

Dean let out a guffaw, slapping the wheel of the Impala. “Well, have you?” When he caught the tight expression Sam gave him, he cleared his throat and changed course. “So, what, we have a witch that doesn’t know how to  _ spell _ ?” He stuck his tongue firmly in his cheek. 

Sam did not appear to appreciate the pun. He huffed and said “No, Dean. I think this is a  _ kid _ . I mean, look at the prices they’re charging for this stuff - $20 for an ‘Authentic Celtic Love Spell’? That’s kind of a broad category, and not even close to the market rate.”

“Oh, and you know all about the market for love spells?”

“I knew enough to save you from one,” Sam parried. 

“Man, I told you not to mention that!” Dean chewed his tongue for several seconds before continuing. “Okay, so let’s say it is a kid, how are we gonna find them? I suppose they gotta live close to this guy if they’re going door-to-door.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said pensively. “It seems like a lot of their spells are nature or lunar-based. I wonder about the woods we saw off of 295? It’s nearby.” 

“You wanna check it out now?” 

“We could…” Sam tapped his foot. “I don’t think it’s urgent though. It’s getting late.”

“Ah, you’re probably right.” Dean turned off the highway on the road back to their motel. “Wanna find a place to shoot some pool and read up on love spells?” He waggled his eyebrows at Sam, who gave him a rare smile. 

“Sounds good.” 

~*~

The next morning was bright and crisp, and the wind bit at Dean’s nose as he peered around the motel door, looking for Sam. Seven o’clock was an ungodly hour to be awake, let alone out on a run. Sam had pestered him to join him the night before but, as always, Dean had begged off. “Let an old man rest, Sammy” he murmured as his face hit the pillow. 

After a quick shower, Dean was pleased to find Sam had returned, with hearty breakfast sandwiches in tow. “So get this,” Sam led off with. “I called the other girl on the phone this morning - Kiera isn’t seeing anyone. It seems like Jenna is a one-off.” 

“You huge flirt. Wait, that doesn’t make sense…” Dean trailed off. “Why would only one spell work?”

“That’s what I thought,” Sam agreed. “But then I thought, what if it’s not a love spell? DeCreepo is loaded, right? And like we figured out before, that kind of magic is pretty unwieldy - not exactly amateur-friendly. Maybe the spells just don’t work at all.”

Dean thought for a second. “How do we know for sure? Hex bags?” 

“I don’t think so, not with this kind of magic. We’re probably looking for an altar. On my run, I did find a footpath to the woods. Do you want to go through that way? If we’re right and it is a kid, it’s probably somewhere they can go on foot.”

Dean hummed in agreement. “I don’t have to run, do I?”

“Nah,” Sam said, stepping away from the table and peeling off his shirt. “I’m tapped for today, I think.” Dean turned around, following Sam with his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom with his razor and fancy shampoo. Sighing, he crumpled the sandwich wrapper and tossed it towards the trash can, looking away as it hit the floor. 

~*~

Out on the trail, the weather had barely warmed, but the sun shone brightly into Dean’s eyes. He lifted a hand to block it out as he led the way through the woods. “What are we looking for, if this isn’t a witch?”

Sam signed behind him, so close that Dean could see the cloud of condensation in the air. “It’s not  _ not  _ a witch,” Sam argued. “Just maybe… not a particularly good one. They just need some guidance, Dean.”

“What are you, Sam Winchester’s School for Witchcraft and Wizardry?” Nevertheless, Dean hummed in understanding, hairs on the back of his neck standing up as they went deeper into the forest. “Do you hear something?” he asked, pressing on Sam’s chest to still him. 

Sam turned his head to look around. “Is that…  _ Stevie Nicks? _ ” he asked, incredulously. 

“What?” But Sam was already moving quietly through the trees in the direction of the sound. 

Dean crept behind Sam, towards what looked like a large chestnut tree in the center of a clearing. The words became more clear as they moved closer, though Dean couldn’t see around Sam’s broad shoulders.

_ I am not asking salvation from you _

_ I'm just asking to be saved for awhile _

_ In a timeless search for love that might work _

_ Still we're already paying the price _

“Hey!” Sam called out - not intending to surprise, more like he had seen a friend. Dean looked at him curiously, following him into the circular clearing where he could see their target - a young girl, on her knees before a haphazard altar made of equal parts cardboard and duct tape. 

The girl started, almost knocking over the candle she had been lighting. “Wh- What?” she said. Grabbing pepper spray from her pocket, she yelled “Stay back!” 

Dean and Sam both put their hands up, backing away a few paces. Sam continued talking. “Hey, we’re not going to hurt you.” He held out a finger, mouthing “ _ One second”  _ as he reached into his pocket to grab the flyer from earlier. “This is yours, right?” he asked. “You’ve been handing them out?”

“Y-yes,” the girl said, brushing her brown hair out of her eyes, hand shaking as she held the pepper spray tightly. “What do you want?”

“We just want to talk,” Sam said earnestly. “Can I?” he made to move closer to the altar, gesturing to Dean to stay where he was. Dean couldn’t see, but he was sure he’d pulled out the puppy dog look. This might be awhile. Dean sighed and sat cross-legged on the edge of the clearing, watching the girl and Sam talk. 

Dean caught some of their conversation over the sounds of  _ In Your Dreams _ , words like “grandmother…. faeries… potions. …” Sam listened to the girl talk for a long time before responding. He touched some of the items on her altar - the candles, mostly, and some crystals and what looked like a sprig of parsley. He pocketed a few plastic baggies, too. Eventually, they packed up most of her altar back into her sequined backpack, and stood up. 

Placing a paternal hand on the girl’s shoulder, Sam walked her back towards Dean. Standing upo and stretching out his legs - with a grimace as he heard his knees crack - Dean asked “How we doing, Sabrina?” The girl grimaced.

“It’s Alanis,” he said tightly. 

“Well, isn’t that ironic?” Sam and the girl rolled his eyes. “I’m Dean,” he said, sticking his hand out. The girl took it, a bit reluctantly. 

“I was just telling Alanis a few of the rules we try to follow when  _ we _ do witchcraft,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows encouragingly.

“Oh, um. Yes. So… so many rules, this one,” Dean said, gesturing towards Sam. “You know how it is…” Dean did not, in fact, know how it was. “One of which being, uh… don’t get caught?”

Sam mouthed “ _ What the hell, dude?”  _ before facing Alanis. “He means the one about not stealing DNA. And, what’s the other golden rule?” he asked. 

“Consent,”Alanis said, shyly. 

“That’s right.” Sam clapped her on the shoulder. “We’ve met a lot of good witches, Alanis,” -he pointedly ignored Dean’s short of laughter - “but you need to err on the side of Glinda the Good if you’re going to be practicing.”

“I know,” she said. “Maybe I’ll try more scrying instead.” She shrugged. “There’s probably more money in it.” 

“There is,” nodded Dean sagely. He grinned at Sam, happy to see him smiling back. “Are you walking home from here?”

Alanis nodded quietly, taking her backpack from Sam and heading off down the footpath. They both watched to make sure she reached the main trail safely. 

“Huh,” Dean said casually. 

“What?”

“You’re good at that.” He looked up at Sam, watching the sun reflect off his hair as he shook his head and laughed. Dean put an easy hand on the small of his back and urged him forward. “So, did any of her spells actually work?”

“I don’t think so. She told me the other ‘clients’ were kind of pissed at her already. We closed the spells anyway, just in case. But you know, love magic. That’s heavy stuff.” Sam looked at him meaningfully.

Clearing his throat loudly, Dean clapped his hands together. “Well, then let’s hit the town; I think I can get another couple hundred out of that barkeep before we get outta Dodge.” 

Sam smirked. “You’re pushing your luck, man.” 

~*~ 

Again, Dean found himself at the pool table, surrounded by men that had drank half as much as he had to twice the effect. And again, Sam sat off to the side, nursing a beer and watching his brother play. Dean sent a stealthy wink his way as he lined up his shot. 

As he sunk the eight ball, Dean flashed Sam a smile, forgetting to plaster a tipsy-and-bewildered look on his face for a few seconds. When he looked up at the other men - Jeremy and Mitch, he remembered - he realized he’d been made. Sam knew it too - Dean felt more than saw him head for Jeremy as the man raised the cue to swipe at Dean across the table. 

Sam and Dean both took a few blows to the face, but managed to get both of the men on the ground in less than thirty seconds. It was about that time that the bartender rang the bell and hollered “Get the fuck out of my bar!” 

Dean didn’t need telling twice. He went to pick Sam up, steadying him with an arm around his back as they walked out of the bar. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” Dean grumbled. Sam laughed abruptly, before turning to spit blood onto the gravel. 

~*~ 

Back at the motel, Dean had Sam sitting on his bed as he held frozen peas from the Gas n’ Sip to his lip. He peeled them away for a second, grimacing at how swollen they looked. “Still got all your teeth?” he asked, remembering his own dental nightmare.

“Mm,” Sam affirmed, looking as though he had run his tongue over all of them to check. Dean examined Sam’s mouth again, running a finger over his plush lower lip before he could stop himself. His breath caught as he examined a lightly bleeding cut where Sam had probably bitten into it unknowingly. He wiped the blood away, a little mesmerized.

“Um, dude?” Sam asked, arching his eyebrow. “I can take it from here, I don’t think it needs stitches.”

“Right,” Dean said, moving away and running a hand over his face. “Right.”

“I can do you.”

“What?” Dean asked an octave too high as he turned back around

“Let me see,” Sam said firmly, reaching for his face. “Dude, you’ve got this guy’s class ring imprinted on your cheek.” 

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Figures, only assholes have those anyway.” 

Sam took the frozen peas from his mouth and placed them onto Dean’s cheekbone, where a small cut still trickled out a few beads of blood. “Sit down,” he said, turning Dean around to sit where Sam had been. 

Dean felt the back of his knees hit the bed, and he sat as Sam tended to the small cut on his cheek. It wasn’t deep, but Sam cleaned and dressed it anyway, face obnoxiously close to Dean’s own. He held his breath. 

“Leave it to you to get us into a fight when we’re not even on a real hunt,” Sam laughed, smoothing the bandaid over Dean’s skin. 

“Heh, yeah,” Dean said, too distracted to argue. “Take the peas back, Sammy; you need them more.”

“Okay,” Sam acquiesced.”You want first shower?” he asked, stepping away towards his own bed.

“Nah,” Dean said. “Go ahead, I took one this morning and I’m fuckin’ beat.”

As he listened to the rhythmic sound of the shower water, Dean thought of Sam’s injuries and sucked his own lip into his mouth. The night had been… weird. Something about Sam was bothering him more than usual, but he couldn’t tell what it was. 

Hearing the faucet turn off and Sam getting changed for bed, Dean rolled over to face the door. It wasn’t until long after the air filled with the sounds of Sam’s slow and steady breathing, that Dean’s eyes closed and he fell into a restless sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a trip for Dean's birthday, and Sam makes up for all the ones they missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Dean Winchester!

_ Never seek to tell thy love,  _

_ Love that never told can be;  _

_ For the gentle wind doth move  _

_ Silently, invisibly.  _

\- William Blake

Upon returning from Maine, Dean seemed to want to take a bit of a sabbatical from the hunting life. Sam was more than happy to oblige, as he found his muscles stiff enough from just a few nights on shoddy motel beds; God only knows what an actual monster could do. Nevertheless, he snuck in a few minutes every morning to check up on leads, forwarding them as appropriate, though all had seemed pretty quiet for the last month.

They had fallen into a comfortable pattern in the bunker - one borne of many trials and errors throughout the years they had lived there. Sam always rose first, for his morning runs or, if he was certain Dean wouldn’t catch him, yoga practice. He made a simple breakfast and waited for Dean to wander in, blearily looking for coffee and obstinately touching things Sam scolded him away from. 

Miracle the dog had joined their family as well. Some days, he would accompany Sam on short runs, and others he would curl up with Dean and sleep until what Dean deemed “a reasonable hour” - usually midmorning. If it was past 8:30, Sam would gently push open Dean’s door - left ajar for Miracle to run in at his leisure - and check on him, intending to wake him up. The majority of the time, the sight of the two curled up and fast asleep prompted Sam to smile and leave them be. On special occasions - or Saturdays - Sam might bring Dean’s plate to him and sit reading while waiting for him to wake up. The first time he’d tried it - after a bout of particularly harrowing nightmares - he expected a pillow to the face or at least some good-natured ribbing, but Dean seemed too surprised or tired for either.

For the first few weeks, Sam felt the creeping sensation of anxiety along his neck and thrumming through his veins. He waited on tenterhooks for the next apocalypse, a piece of devastating news or an argument, or some such other crisis. He found himself edgy and uncertain. 

Once he found a routine, based mostly around their daily activities, Sam felt better. Things became predictable and, in an odd sense, safe. On Mondays, they would play some honest pool in town. Tuesdays, at Dean’s behest, were for tacos and tequila. Wednesdays, in turn, were for nursing hangovers and their quiet activities of choice. Sam made them train on Thursdays, telling Dean that it was important to stay in fighting form and, if he wasn’t going to work out with him, he at least had to spar. “What would Dad say?” usually got him out of bed. The weekends - which hadn’t meant much before - were Sam’s favorite. 

Sam watched Dean and Miracle for a minute before opening his book, the rustle of pages usually enough to rouse his brother. Sure enough, after a few quiet minutes, Dean’s sleep-husky voice came from the bed. “What’re you reading this morning, college boy?” 

Sam smiled down at the page. “Kierkegard,” he whispered. Dean groaned in response, turning over to find the pancakes and bacon on his nightstand. 

“Breakfast in bed,” he grinned, same as every Saturday for the past month. Sam caught the light in his eyes and held his breath. He wasn’t quite as good a chef as Dean, but he warmed when he saw Dean dig in regardless, making an obscene sound so that Sam had to turn his head away. “Wamma reegy?” Dean asked, mouth stuffed full of pancake.

“What? You’re going to choke. Swallow your damn food man.”

Dean shook his head before trying again. “Do you wanna read me some of it?” Sam couldn’t tell if it was the lighting, or Dean’s cheeks had gone a bit red. Maybe he had a fever.

“You want me… to read you  _ Works of Love _ ?” Sam asked, incredulous. Usually, Dean could go for a reading of some obscure lore, but moral philosophy didn’t exactly get his blood going.

Dean made a face. “Well, not now that I know it’s called that.” Nevertheless, he settled back against the pillow with his coffee, looking at Sam expectantly.

Sam sighed and began to read. 

~*~

Usually, Dean stayed in bed as long as possible on Saturdays, not willing to leave even to watch shows in the Dean Cave. Instead, he’d scoot over to give Sam room on the bed, as they kicked back to watch a melange of cartoons, wrestling, or - on one memorable occasion - an eight hour Masterpiece Theatre special, from beginning to end.

This Saturday, however, held a bit more promise. Dean’s birthday was coming up and, while Sam had planned a bit of a surprise at Jody’s later in the week, he wanted to do something special. Dean was a creature of habit, so he had warned him in advance to pack a bag, but otherwise stayed mum about his plans. He smiled to himself as he packed away Miracle’s favorite ball and a bandana he had bought for him at the gas station. They’d drop him off at the doggie daycare Sam favored before heading out of town. 

“Where are we going?” Dean yelled from down the hallway.

Sam thumbed through the map he had, taking a look at their planned route before packing it away. “You’ll find out,” he yelled back, smiling. 

Sam finished packing, putting the card and small box on top of his clothes, and headed to meet Dean by the door.

~*~

Hours later, they were southbound on 135 and listening to Don Henley croon over the sound of rolling tires and rhythm guitar. Dean hadn’t bothered him about their direction for at least thirty minutes, and Sam was surreptitiously checking in to their hotel. 

“All I know,” Dean said, breaking the companionable silence, “is that I am not stopping in Oklahoma again since that last Rugaru hunt.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and winked at Sam.

“I know,” Sam said. “I got us a place right over the border into Texas. It’s supposed to be right next door to some Brazillian Steakhouse.”

Dean grinned, glancing back at the road before turning to Sam again. “Brazillian steakhouse?” he asked, excitedly. “Man, I haven’t had that in -”

“Like five years, I know,” Sam chuckled. “Just don’t get the meat sweats this time.”

“Ah, Sammy,” Dean chided. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

Sam chuckled and handed Dean` a bottle of water from the cooler at his feet. Soon, they would stop for lunch at one of Dean’s favorite diners that Sam could remember, and follow the road until night fell and they pulled into an honest-to-God hotel. Sam smiled to himself, hoping that Dean would be pleasantly surprised. 

~*~

The Brazillian steakhouse had been a bit of a splurge, Sam would admit. Dean asked where they had gotten the money - “You been hustling pool when I’m not looking, Sammy?” - but the truth was that he had found some small tutoring gigs; it turned out that a near-perfect score on the LSAT had been good for something, after all.

Sam held the door open as they walked out into the dry air, shucking off his jacket that he had brought solely for the aggressive air-conditioning. “What’d you think?” he asked, following Dean for the short walk back to the hotel.

“It was amazing, Sam, really.”.

Sam smiled to himself, looking around as they made their way back to the room. Dean wanted to take a turn in the pool before they slept, and Sam planned to tell him about their plans for the rest of the week then. 

“South Padre Island?” Dean asked questioningly, leaning back as the jacuzzi bubbled around them. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, resting his arm against the edge. “It’s about a day out, supposed to be nice but not too touristy. Figured you wanted some time on the beach,” he said, knocking his foot against Dean’s under the water.

Dean hummed and smiled, eyes closing. “That sounds nice, Sammy,” he murmured. “What’s all this for?” he asked, opening an eye to look at Sam. 

Sam reached back to scratch at his neck, feeling suddenly warm. “You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “It feels like we never get to celebrate your birthday, with… everything.” He wasn’t sure what else to add, and looked at Dean earnestly. He had wanted his brother to be able to relax - to enjoy life in a way it felt like they hadn’t for years. It was possible he wanted him in a good mood for his own reasons, too. 

Dean, for his part, looked excited. His eyes lit up with the fire that Sam loved, and hadn’t seen for years, since the last time they had what Dean called “we time.” He nodded silently as he sank down into the water. “Thanks, man,” he murmured.

Sam nodded, looking openly now that Dean’s eyes were closed again. He leaned back to consider him, to gauge the success of their adventure so far. Smiling softly, he watched the tension melt out of his brother’s shoulders, and the lines on his face smooth as he relaxed. He watched until the jacuzzi bubbles stopped and the hum of the fluorescents started to give him a headache. 

~*~

They made the next day’s drive in only six hours, which Sam considered a minor miracle. Leaving early, they ate on the road and rolled into town in the late afternoon. Sam had booked a rather elaborate six-night stay near the beach, but he was still speechless at the sight.. “I figured, we can drop our stuff and grab some food or something for the next couple days.”

Dean nodded, patting his thigh with his hand as he cut Sam off. “As long as you don’t make me park Baby in the sand,” he added, moving his hand from Sam’s leg to the dashboard.

Sam chuckled. “Nah,” he said. “We can walk down, I think. There’s s’posed to be a private trail.”

Dean smiled as he moved to get out of the car. Sam gathered their duffels from the trunk and they made their way up the stairs of the beach house.

When they entered, Dean seemed struck by the extravagance, halting in the doorway as Sam peered around him. Looking at the vast windows and the pristine white furniture, Sam was acutely aware of the dirty, worn bags in his hands. He cleared his throat. “Huh,” he said. “Didn’t think it would be quite so… big.”

Dean turned towards him, the suspension of disbelief apparently wearing thin. “How the hell did you afford this, man?” he asked, equal parts concerned and impressed.

“Will you at least let me in the door first?” Sam asked, brushing past him and toeing off his shoes. He hoped Dean didn’t see the blush already rising on his cheeks. 

“I’m not complaining,” Dean said, following him. “It’s just that it’s a little, uh - “

_ Lavish? … Romantic?  _ Sam thought, sarcastically. He felt like Dean could see through his back and into his mind. Dean had stopped talking, though, and was instead peering out the window as the sun set over the Atlantic. Sam smiled at the silhouette, and remembered why he had been so enamored with the place to begin with. “I know it’s a bit much but,” he shrugged. “Would you believe I got a deal?”

Dean chuckled before turning around. “Yeah, probably. Not a lot of people at the beach in the dead of winter, even in Texas.” Sam nodded, carefully. “You’ve been holding out on me, though.” Dean added. It wasn’t a question.

Sam signed, taking off his jacket and laying it carefully on an armchair. He sat down and rubbed his neck. “Maybe just a couple hours a week, tutoring,” he said. 

“You got a job?” Dean asked, incredulous. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Not a _ job, _ Dean. Just a gig, you know?”

“Well, where was I while you were doing this ‘gig’?” 

Sam had to laugh. Of  _ course _ Dean wasn’t upset that he’d earned the money for the place. Predictably, he was put off that Sam was able to keep something from him, even if it was a measly five hours a week. “Asleep, dude.” he said. “It was mostly early morning, before you woke up.” 

Dean rubbed his hands together and smiled, before patting Sam on the back. “Well will you look at that,” he said, taking off his jacket and leaning against Sam’s shoulder. “A Winchester, an honest man after all.” 

It was as close to approval as Sam expected to get from Dean, and he looked up at him, giving him a soft smile. They looked at each other for a moment, before Dean patted his shoulder again and went to check out the other rooms. 

“Hey, order us some pizza!” Dean called from the back of the condo. Sam huffed out a laugh and took his duffel to the other room, to begin unpacking. 

The bedroom was similar to their standard fare - two queens, though much more well-maintained than they usually saw. The comforters were fluffy and white, and the windows opened up to a spectacular view of the beach, fading now that night was falling. Dean was leaning back on his bed, signing into their Netflix account while Sam found a local pizza joint that delivered.

After ordering and rifling through his bag to find his sweats, Sam had come across the card and box he had packed the previous day. He turned it over in his hand, biting his lip and feeling monumentally stupid.  _ Dean already thought the condo was a bit much, what kind of shit is he gonna give me for this? _

“Whatcha got there, Sammy?” Dean asked, thumbing through the Netflix catalogue. 

Sam started, casting an uncertain glance between the items in his hand and Dean on the bed. 

Before he had the chance to make a decision, Dean made it for him. “Bring it over here, weirdo,” he said, scooting to the side so Sam could sit on the edge of the bed. Sam sighed heavily and walked over.

“Look, I don’t want you to give me a hard time for this - “ he started, but he stopped abruptly at the look on Dean’s face - the same bright shine he had seen days before, eyebrows raised as he stretched out his hands.

“Is that for me?” Dean asked, curiously.

“Yeah,” Sam said, shrugging. “Course, I mean. Who else…” He handed the gift and card over. “Don’t, uh. Don’t expect too much,” he warned, feeling the need to cool Dean’s excitement. “It’s not anything spectacular.”

Dean looked at him doubtfully, moving to open the card first.  _ Oh shit,  _ Sam thought. He couldn’t be here for this. He patted Dean awkwardly on the shoulder and made to stand up, wanting to run from the room. Dean caught his arm first. 

“Hey, stay here,” he said, looking up at Sam.

Sam swallowed thickly, and nodded. He moved to his own bed, sitting on the edge and watching Dean as he pulled the card from the envelope. He dragged a hand through his hair anxiously. It’s not that he had put anything too outrageous in the card - of course not. But to Dean, he knew, the fact that there even was a card revealed too much. But it’s not like he could just give him the thing - 

Dean had read the card. He smiled softly at Sam, propping it open and placing it on the nightstand between them. He looked over at the small box, heavily. 

Dean unwrapped the box slowly; Sam had wrapped it in the Sunday morning cartoons, knowing Dean would appreciate the extra touch. He slid the long box out of the wrapping and looked at Sam curiously. “This is, uh -” Dean faltered. 

“It’s not -” Sam said, clearing his throat.  _ God, why had he even tried this anyway?  _ “I mean, it’s complicated, I know. I just wanted it to be a good birthday - a, um. A fresh start, you know.” He shifted uneasily on the bed. 

Dean nodded, more to himself than to Sam, and opened the box. Inlaid in faux velvet was a new watch, the same as Dean’s favorite that Chuck had broken in their final showdown. Dean looked up, surprised. He reached for the card again. 

“Is it okay?” Sam asked. “I mean, I can return it, you know, if you want - “

“It’s great, Sam,” Dean murmured. “It’s just, the card said -” He gestured to Sam’s handwriting.

_ He thought it was another amulet.  _ “Oh,” Sam let out a breath. “Yeah, I. I know you kept it but I thought - after everything with Chuck…. And, you know, us…. Maybe you’d want something different.” He reached across the space between their beds, taking the watch out of the case. “Here, look at the back,” he said.

Dean ran his fingers over the initials that had been carved there, two pairs, similar to the ones in both their homes. He turned the watch over again in his hand. “Thanks, Sammy,” he whispered. “I love it.” Sam grinned, heart pounding in his throat as he watched Dean inspect the watch. “Wanna give me a hand?” he asked in a low voice. 

“Oh, uh - Sure,” Sam said, smiling as he scrambled back onto the side of Dean’s bed. He reached to fasten the watch onto Dean’s wrist. Before he got up to clear the paper away, his hand was on his arm again. 

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” Dean said, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. He reached into the pocket of his jeans. 

“What’s that?” 

Slowly, Dean drew out the leather cord and the slightly mottled bronze of the amulet. He dangeled it in front of himself for a moment.

Sam’s mouth dropped open. He knew Dean had kept it, but like he had written in his card, it was all a bit fraught by now. He couldn’t blame Dean for not wanting the symbol hanging off his neck, especially with Chuck running the show, but he had figured it was somewhere in his room, stowed away like many of the treasures Dean kept a hold of over the years. That he had it with him, even now was - was - 

Dean turned to show him, and Sam could see the blush in his cheeks and the watery quality of his eyes. Their knees bumped together as Dean looked up at him. “I know I haven’t been - “ Dean started, before apparently thinking better of it and shaking his head. He wrapped the cord carefully around his fingers before returning it to his pocket. “So…. yeah,” he said, looking up at Sam with a sense of solemnity, as though Sam was supposed to grasp some hidden meaning behind his few words.

Sam gave Dean a questioning look, feeling the heat from Dean’s leg bleeding into his own, hand long forgotten on the clasp over Dean’s wrist. His heart was pounding in his ears, now, aware of some grand consequence that was escaping his brain, at the moment. He looked into Dean’s eyes, unblinking.

The doorbell rang. 

Sam set petrified, still staring at Dean as his mouth went impossibly dry.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, voice thin. “You gonna get that?” 

Sam shook his head, pulling his hand back from where it had been set on Dean’s wrist for who knows how long. “Yep,” he said, overly chipper and knowing that the topic would not be revisited again that night - or possibly ever. He cast Dean a quick look before rushing to open the door and grab the pizza.

~*~

With the spell broken, Sam and Dean found themselves on opposite sides of the couch, watching Jeopardy reruns with less banter than usual, dedicating a little too much attention to their pizza slices and beers. Sam had asked if Dean wanted to hit up a local bar - and, by extension, a local girl - and was surprised when Dean shrugged his shoulders and suggested they catch the playoffs reruns instead. 

Hours later, full of beer and pizza, they found themselves on the balcony, looking out at the dark night and hearing more than seeing the waves rolling in on the beach, drinking quietly until it became too cold and they headed inside. 

Crawling into bed, Sam watched as Dean carefully took the watch from his wrist and set it on his nightstand. He caught Dean’s eye before he turned off the lamp and the room went dark. “Goodnight, Sammy,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Sam’s heart swelled at the softness of Dean’s tone. Exhausted, tipsy, and impossibly fond, he whispered back. “Night, De. Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to make this trip its own chapter, but it grew a bit out of control. Thank you for your patience and readership! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean enjoy their vacation, and Dean thinks too much.

_An enchanted moment_

_And it sees me through_

_It's enough for this restless warrior_

_Just to be with you_

\- Elton John

As the sun set on another day on South Padre, Dean pushed his feet into the sand and sipped at his beer, casting another glance at Sam from under his sunglasses. The weather had been mild, and they trekked out to the beach for lunch and some time in the sun - cold though it may be. Sam seemed unperturbed by the descending night sky, reading through some book or another as he had been for the last hour. Dean didn’t mind, it gave him a chance to look.

Sam had seemed relaxed and happy, especially after the other night. Dean rubbed at his watch aimlessly, thinking about the trip and everything Sam had done to make the week special. It’s not that he was surprised - Sam had always been thoughtful, of course. But there was something different in the set of Sam’s shoulders, the easiness of his smile and even his touch, that Dean had never expected to see or feel again. He certainly hadn’t for over a decade. 

Eventually, even Sam couldn’t avoid the cold seeping through his many layers and he set down his book, looking over at Dean. Dean was suddenly very interested in the label of his beer. 

“Hey,” Sam said softly. “You want to stay out here a bit longer? I could build us a fire.”

Dean looked over, surprised. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

The men pulled brush and dry driftwood from the edge of the beach, piling it together to start a modest blaze. Dean scooted their chairs together in front, feeling Sam’s arm brush up against his as they sat down but unwilling to move it. 

Dean knocked his hand against Sam’s, knuckles brushing. Not holding it, but enough to let him know he was there. “Thanks, Sammy,” he murmured. He looked over to see Sam’s smile in the golden light of the fire, and his breath caught at the sight and closeness of it all. 

“Of course,” Sam said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just stopped his brother’s heart. 

Dean looked away, going quiet. He was disappointed to find his beer empty and he leaned back and looked up at the stars instead. 

It wasn’t that Dean hadn’t noticed how he felt about his brother. He’d been noticing it and repressing it in more or less constant cycles for twenty years. What he didn’t understand was what had changed between them - how the always malleable boundary had stretched wider and wider with no sign of stopping. He furrowed his brow as he saw a meteor flash across the sky. 

Now, with Sam so close - a warm line of heat from his shoulder to his ankle - it was all rising to the surface impossibly fast. It seemed like it was doing that a lot lately. Since - since Chuck. They’d mentioned it the other night, Dean thought, rubbing the watch that still lay against his wrist. But that wasn’t the same as _talking_ about it. Especially to Sam. 

Dean still felt himself doubting the reality of anything that came before last year. Had Chuck been manipulating them that thoroughly? Their friends, their issues… They felt so far away now. Irrelevant to the only thing that really mattered. He swung his head over to look at Sam, catching the slanted hazel staring back at him, gleaming with firelight. Maybe he was never quite as strong as had convinced himself. 

“You wanna go back in?” Sam asked, voice quiet like Dean had just woken up. Maybe he had. 

Dean swallowed, nodding silently. He packed up the chairs as Sam put out the fire, grabbing his book and their empties in a trash bag. Like a good Boy Scout, Dean smirked. As they walked back, he let Sam take the lead. He watched the sway of his brother’s shoulders and, moving noiselessly through the chilling night, they made their way back to their room. 

~*~

Sam had seemed more than a little surprised when Dean chose mini-golf over the strip club and pool hall. “If you didn’t want to go, Sammy, you shouldn’t have offered,” he teased. “I know you’re afraid to get your ass handed to you, but it’s your fault for giving me the choice.”

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Dean knew he’d probably expected Dean to hit the strip club. It had, after all, been awhile since they were out of town. Dean shrugged, noncommittally. He hadn’t really wanted to go much of anywhere without Sam, these days, and a strip club - well, that brought up a whole host of other feelings that he was trying not to think about. 

“C’mon,” Dean said. “We’ll get some burgers, I’ll wipe the floor with you at mini-golf, and we’ll be back in time to watch _Sleepless in Seattle_ , or whatever inane crap you put on this time,” he teased. 

Sam huffed, casting him an indulgent smile. “Alright, old man,” he said. “Just don’t throw your back out on the first swing like last time.” 

Dean frowned as Sam breezed by him through the door, the rub of shoulders distracting Dean so he rushed to lock up and beat him to the car.

~*~

The burger joint was nothing special, but the buzz of fluorescence and slightly wilted romaine of Sam’s salad was familiar, so Dean was happy. “Been awhile since we’ve done this, huh?” he asked, around a handful of fries. 

Sam looked at him curiously. “Done what? Gotten shitty diner food?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No, y’know, the whole -” he waved his hand vaguely. “Winchester family vacation thing. Since Dollyworld.”

“Well, you can’t really top that,” Sam teased. Dean grinned. Sam’s smiles were much easier nowadays, and Dean lived off them - off the feeling of freedom and familiarity that had been cleaved from them over the years. Sam snuck a fry off his plate, and Dean was too enamored to smack his hand away.

“If you want fries, just order them yourself, asshat.”

“They taste better if they’re yours,” Sam said, quirking his eyebrow. Dean huffed and pretended not to notice when a handful more went missing. 

“What are we watching tonight then, Meg Ryan?”

“We’re watching Meg Ryan? Or are you calling _me_ Meg Ryan?”

Dean took a bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully before spraying crumbs as he said “Both.” Sam smiled again at that, and Dean practically preened. He finished his bite before shrugging. “Depends when we get back. If it’s early enough we could do a double feature,” he teased. “Sammy look-alikes. _Sleepless in Seattle_ and… _A Streetcar Named Desire_.” 

“Give it up, Dean. I am not Scully. Or Meg Ryan.” 

Dean pretended not to hear him, running his eyes over his hair before turning his attention back to the burger.

~*~

Predictably, he had beaten Sam at mini-golf. And air hockey. And the myriad of arcade games Sam had wanted them to try to claw back a few scraps of his dignity. As they walked back to the impala in the cast of the neon lights, Dean was crowing with pride and ruffling Sam’s hair. “What’s a matter, Sammy?” he asked, beaming. “You think you’d be used to being bested by me after 38 years.” 

Sam rolled his eyes before getting into the car. He closed the door without a word. 

Dean slid into his seat, feeling a bit more generous as he reached out to smooth Sam’s hair for him. “Okay, okay,” he said, raising a hand placatingly. “There was scrabble back at the place, right? You can kick my ass tomorrow.” 

Sam smirked at that, reaching out to pat his knee. “Okay, De,” he said quietly, turning the radio to the alternative station without a word. 

Dean meant to gag, or bat at Sam’s hand, or wrestle in one of his own tapes, but he was frozen by the tenderness in his voice. The tone that had been creeping in more and more on this trip - and before, if he was being honest. The touches. The nicknames. He looked at Sam and narrowed his eyes, but his head was already resting on the glass, ready to nap on the way home. No answers to be found, then. 

He sighed, and pulled out onto the road. 

~*~

Despite Dean’s teasing, he settled on _Raptor Island_ when they got back to the condo. They were out of beer, so Dean insisted on sharing a bottle of whiskey. He was surprised when Sam scooted over on the bed, making room for Dean and his pile of snacks. “To share,” he explained, at Dean’s questioning look. Dean nodded.

They had sat like this a million times before, to watch movies in the bunker before the conception of the Dean Cave, or in motels when the television was tiny and angled in front of only one bed. Something felt different, Dean decided. 

Sam handed him the bottle after taking a long swig. Dean raised his eyebrows. It occurred to him that Sam, lightweight as he was, might still be tipsy from the beach. He chuckled. Maybe that explained the poor showing at mini-golf. 

“What?” Sam asked, eyes still on him rather than whatever was happening on screen.

“Nothing,” he said, looking back to the television without seeing much. “You’re just kinda putting it away over there, Nolte. Thought that was my thing.” 

Sam shrugged. “We’re on vacation.” 

That was good enough for Dean, he thought, tilting the bottle back and letting it burn at his throat. “Well alright,” he said, smiling lazily. 

~*~

Two hours later, Dean had no idea what movie they had just watched or even any of the plot. He was sure Sam didn’t either. Nevertheless, he was acutely aware of Sam’s head on his shoulder, lips parted and puffing hot, damp breath onto his neck. “Sammy,” he said in warning, but it was too quiet to wake him, he knew. 

Dean brought up an arm to push Sam off, but it was heavy with whiskey and tingling from where Sam’s head had cut off his circulation. Exhausted, he rested it on the pillow instead. He’d try again in a moment. 

He had the presence of mind to close the whiskey bottle that was between his legs and set it on the floor, observing blearily that almost half of it had been drained. Had it been full when they started? He frowned. Sam snuffled in his sleep and turned over, trapping Dean’s nearly-dead arm with his weight. Dean groaned. He’d have to move it now. Any second now.

Dean’s eyes slid shut without his permission, and he fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @michellelove1 for the song lyrics. I might make a playlist once this gets long enough!  
> As always, thank you for reading! <3


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